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no_true_pairTitle: The Mission
Fandom: Moon Knight (Marvel comics)
Pairing/Characters: Soldier & Rutherford Winner
Rating: Teen
Content Notes: Vampires, firearm
Prompt: September One - Soldier finds Rutherford Winner's lost gun and…
Soldier wasn't looking for the thing; it just appeared one night while he was cleaning out the toaster in the kitchen for lack of anything better to do.
He didn't eat toast anymore (he didn't eat anything anymore, which was just about the worst part of being a vampire if he was honest, because baked goods were his mother's love language and he hated not being able to eat her blueberry muffins), but he didn't like crumbs. Even in a sentient house that generally took care of unwanted guests in its own way, he was pretty sure you could still get ants.
He wiped down the counter and moved the toaster back into place, and that was when he found the gun, sitting innocuously next to the coffeemaker where it hadn't been a minute before.
Mr. Knight didn't use guns, he knew that for a fact. Between him and Dr. Moon, the Mission probably contained just about every kind of weapon Soldier had ever heard of and plenty he hadn't, but none of them were firearms. Reese didn't carry one, and he didn't think Tigra needed one, and it certainly wasn't his, which made this handgun a mystery.
He picked it up and looked around. "House?" he said cautiously. Mr. Knight talked to the Mission all the time, Reese chatted to it like an old friend, Dr. Moon greeted it with grave respect every time he entered. But personally, Soldier hadn't got comfortable with the idea of conversing with a building quite yet. "Hi. Where'd this come from?"
The Mission didn't talk, not in a human way, but it nudged a shadowy memory into his mind of white hair, blazing eyes, and desperation: Mr. Winner. It made sense. He'd come into the Mission with a gun; he must've left it here, on purpose or not, when he'd allowed Dr. Sterman to take him back to his cell at the Ravencroft Institute, and the Mission, clearly, had held onto it until now. It did that with socks sometimes, or Dr. Moon's reading glasses when it was feeling whatever passed for impish in a house, but a gun… that was new.
Soldier weighed it in his hand and considered what to do with it. It was a nice, professional piece: Heckler and Koch P30L, semi-automatic, long slide and barrel, detachable magazine with a 15-round capacity, .380-caliber slugs inside. Easy to shoot, quick to reload, plenty of power. You could do some real damage with a piece like this even if you only halfway knew what you were doing. And Mr. Winner had all the way known what he was doing. If he was crazy, it was a really competent kind of crazy, just like Mr. Knight.
He clicked the safety off and on again from old, automatic habit before ejecting the magazine and the round in the chamber and counting out the cartridges into a neat line on the kitchen counter. Mr. Winner must have fired off two rounds that time he'd come here in search of Dr. Sterman; what was left was unlucky thirteen.
If Soldier was the kind of guy who thought a lot about signs and symbols, he probably would've had some opinions about that.
"You want me to get rid of this for you?" he asked the Mission, glancing around. It was hard to know where to look when you were inside the thing you were talking to. Wasn't like it had a face.
The house creaked emphatically under his feet and nudged an image into his head of himself posing alongside Mr. Knight, dressed in some kind of suit like his but all black, fangs bared, gun in hand. A big dramatic Dracula cape and an empty circle on his chest, like he was supposed to be the new-moon counterpart to Mr. Knight's crescent and Dr. Moon's full moon.
Soldier couldn't help it: he laughed out loud, startling himself. It had been a while since anything had made him laugh. "Ah, no. I'm no hero. I'm just—"
"Soldier?" On instinct, he swept the cartridges back into the magazine, tucked the gun swiftly into his waistband, and was leaning casually against the counter a second before Reese popped her head into the kitchen, hand on her hip. "You're talking to yourself now? Huh. Of all the habits you could pick up from Mr. Knight, I guess that's not the worst one."
He shook his head and rapped one knuckle on the counter behind him. "House wanted a word."
Reese grinned at him, unselfconsciously flashing her fangs, and patted the doorframe fondly. "Well, whatever it told you, you should always listen to the Mission." She passed by him to swing open the fridge door and grab her travel mug. She'd put one of those big red straws in there to disguise what was in the mug while she was working, but even chilled, he could smell it: thick, rich, metallic blood.
He didn't love the way his mouth watered at the scent and his eyes tracked the mug with undisguisable rapt fascination, but it was hard to stop even if he knew he was doing it. These sudden cravings came on fast and rough, and that was with Reese looking out for him. He couldn't imagine doing this on her own, like she'd had to in the beginning.
Somehow, Reese could always tell when he was feeling the pangs. She tilted her head at him and offered him the mug, watched while he took a couple swallows until the craving eased, and then accepted it back. "Hey, if you're not doing anything else, you should come out and keep me company at the front desk. Slow night. Do you know how to play cribbage?"
He smiled back at her. Kept his own fangs behind his lips, though, stained red as they were. He didn't want anyone to see that, not even Reese. Not yet. "No. But I'll try if you teach me."
As Soldier followed her out of the kitchen, the Mission nudged one more image into his mind: himself, not in any kind of costume, standing in front of Reese with the gun in hand while shadowy figures faced off with him. The same way she'd tried to stand in front of him that night he'd gotten himself killed and had saved him by turning him into a vampire like her. Just him, protecting Reese from anyone and anything that tried to come after her.
"Yeah," he said under his breath, touching the doorframe right where she had. "For her? Okay. It's a deal."
He wasn't sure how he could tell, but he was pretty sure the house smiled.
Fandom: Moon Knight (Marvel comics)
Pairing/Characters: Soldier & Rutherford Winner
Rating: Teen
Content Notes: Vampires, firearm
Prompt: September One - Soldier finds Rutherford Winner's lost gun and…
Soldier wasn't looking for the thing; it just appeared one night while he was cleaning out the toaster in the kitchen for lack of anything better to do.
He didn't eat toast anymore (he didn't eat anything anymore, which was just about the worst part of being a vampire if he was honest, because baked goods were his mother's love language and he hated not being able to eat her blueberry muffins), but he didn't like crumbs. Even in a sentient house that generally took care of unwanted guests in its own way, he was pretty sure you could still get ants.
He wiped down the counter and moved the toaster back into place, and that was when he found the gun, sitting innocuously next to the coffeemaker where it hadn't been a minute before.
Mr. Knight didn't use guns, he knew that for a fact. Between him and Dr. Moon, the Mission probably contained just about every kind of weapon Soldier had ever heard of and plenty he hadn't, but none of them were firearms. Reese didn't carry one, and he didn't think Tigra needed one, and it certainly wasn't his, which made this handgun a mystery.
He picked it up and looked around. "House?" he said cautiously. Mr. Knight talked to the Mission all the time, Reese chatted to it like an old friend, Dr. Moon greeted it with grave respect every time he entered. But personally, Soldier hadn't got comfortable with the idea of conversing with a building quite yet. "Hi. Where'd this come from?"
The Mission didn't talk, not in a human way, but it nudged a shadowy memory into his mind of white hair, blazing eyes, and desperation: Mr. Winner. It made sense. He'd come into the Mission with a gun; he must've left it here, on purpose or not, when he'd allowed Dr. Sterman to take him back to his cell at the Ravencroft Institute, and the Mission, clearly, had held onto it until now. It did that with socks sometimes, or Dr. Moon's reading glasses when it was feeling whatever passed for impish in a house, but a gun… that was new.
Soldier weighed it in his hand and considered what to do with it. It was a nice, professional piece: Heckler and Koch P30L, semi-automatic, long slide and barrel, detachable magazine with a 15-round capacity, .380-caliber slugs inside. Easy to shoot, quick to reload, plenty of power. You could do some real damage with a piece like this even if you only halfway knew what you were doing. And Mr. Winner had all the way known what he was doing. If he was crazy, it was a really competent kind of crazy, just like Mr. Knight.
He clicked the safety off and on again from old, automatic habit before ejecting the magazine and the round in the chamber and counting out the cartridges into a neat line on the kitchen counter. Mr. Winner must have fired off two rounds that time he'd come here in search of Dr. Sterman; what was left was unlucky thirteen.
If Soldier was the kind of guy who thought a lot about signs and symbols, he probably would've had some opinions about that.
"You want me to get rid of this for you?" he asked the Mission, glancing around. It was hard to know where to look when you were inside the thing you were talking to. Wasn't like it had a face.
The house creaked emphatically under his feet and nudged an image into his head of himself posing alongside Mr. Knight, dressed in some kind of suit like his but all black, fangs bared, gun in hand. A big dramatic Dracula cape and an empty circle on his chest, like he was supposed to be the new-moon counterpart to Mr. Knight's crescent and Dr. Moon's full moon.
Soldier couldn't help it: he laughed out loud, startling himself. It had been a while since anything had made him laugh. "Ah, no. I'm no hero. I'm just—"
"Soldier?" On instinct, he swept the cartridges back into the magazine, tucked the gun swiftly into his waistband, and was leaning casually against the counter a second before Reese popped her head into the kitchen, hand on her hip. "You're talking to yourself now? Huh. Of all the habits you could pick up from Mr. Knight, I guess that's not the worst one."
He shook his head and rapped one knuckle on the counter behind him. "House wanted a word."
Reese grinned at him, unselfconsciously flashing her fangs, and patted the doorframe fondly. "Well, whatever it told you, you should always listen to the Mission." She passed by him to swing open the fridge door and grab her travel mug. She'd put one of those big red straws in there to disguise what was in the mug while she was working, but even chilled, he could smell it: thick, rich, metallic blood.
He didn't love the way his mouth watered at the scent and his eyes tracked the mug with undisguisable rapt fascination, but it was hard to stop even if he knew he was doing it. These sudden cravings came on fast and rough, and that was with Reese looking out for him. He couldn't imagine doing this on her own, like she'd had to in the beginning.
Somehow, Reese could always tell when he was feeling the pangs. She tilted her head at him and offered him the mug, watched while he took a couple swallows until the craving eased, and then accepted it back. "Hey, if you're not doing anything else, you should come out and keep me company at the front desk. Slow night. Do you know how to play cribbage?"
He smiled back at her. Kept his own fangs behind his lips, though, stained red as they were. He didn't want anyone to see that, not even Reese. Not yet. "No. But I'll try if you teach me."
As Soldier followed her out of the kitchen, the Mission nudged one more image into his mind: himself, not in any kind of costume, standing in front of Reese with the gun in hand while shadowy figures faced off with him. The same way she'd tried to stand in front of him that night he'd gotten himself killed and had saved him by turning him into a vampire like her. Just him, protecting Reese from anyone and anything that tried to come after her.
"Yeah," he said under his breath, touching the doorframe right where she had. "For her? Okay. It's a deal."
He wasn't sure how he could tell, but he was pretty sure the house smiled.
no subject
Date: 2022-09-01 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-09-01 07:53 pm (UTC)You probably didn't really want a whole manifesto, so sorry, but clearly I'd recommend the comics. ;)
no subject
Date: 2022-09-02 04:57 pm (UTC)